Dorothy was a 21-year-old LPN at the hospital. She was slim, with dark hair, of Italian heritage. She had treated a hepatitis patient, and along with others who had been in contact with that patient, she had come to the Emergency Department for prophylactic treatment. She was weighed (103 pounds) and having been assigned a number, she was sent into an open seating area with the others, who had been potentially exposed. She sat quietly, making neither eye contact, nor conversation, with any of her colleagues there.

About 20 minutes later, Dorothy heard her number being called and she was directed to walk to one of the rooms at the end of the corridor for her treatment. Dorothy entered the room, which contained two hospital beds. She was sitting nervously on one of the beds when the door opened; she had a startled look on her face when I walked in carrying syringes and alcohol swabs in a plastic boat. I had seen Dorothy on several occasions on my trips to the women’s med-surg floor, where she worked. She always smiled at me. I sometimes wondered if she had been flirting.

As I set the plastic boat on the table, Dorothy recovered her composure, and she gave me a nervous smile. As a nurse Dorothy probably knew that she was going to get a dose of Gamma Globulin. Nevertheless, I told her, “I am going to give you some Gamma Globulin, Dorothy. I assume that you know they are going in your backside.” I was sure she didn’t realize until that moment she was going to get an injection in each buttock. “I’ll need you to undress from the waist down, Dorothy. You can keep your underpants on for now.”

As she began to undress, she asked, “Am I really getting two shots?” I nodded. Dorothy slowly took off her white nurse’s uniform and shoes, unhooked the garters and slid off her white stockings, and wriggled out of her panty girdle. Dorothy had a worried look on her face as she sat back down on the bed. Taking a deep breath, she pulled up her slip and rolled onto her tummy. Burying her face in a pillow, she quietly began to sob when I lowered her white cotton underpants to mid-thigh, exposing her small, pale backside. I wondered if there was enough muscle mass to absorb the large dose I was about to inject.

After palpating the muscle of her left buttock, I used the first cotton swab and vigorously rubbed the selected spot. I uncapped the first needle and Dorothy sharply inhaled as she felt the point of the 18-gauge needle piercing her skin and find its way deep into the muscle. Dorothy held her composure for the most part as the syringe was slowly emptied of its contents. I only had to guide her back with my free hand a few times to prevent her from wriggling too much.

After the first injection was finished, I pulled out the needle and massaged the injection spot for 30-45 seconds to help distribute the serum. I asked Dorothy if she was ok, and she whispered, “yes,” in a slightly pained voice. I recapped the empty syringe and placed it in the boat. I picked up the second syringe, a fresh cotton swab, and moved to the other side of the bed. “One more, Dorothy, and it will be over.”

I prodded and swabbed her right buttock, and after uncapping the needle, slid it into her muscle. It took a couple of extra minutes to give Dorothy this injection. She was a good patient. She didn't scream, but she did moan, sob, and in a tearful voice, tell me several times that "it really hurts". With her face buried in the pillow, Dorothy never noticed that her charge nurse had looked in to check on her. As I was injecting the last of the serum, and pulled out the second needle, Dorothy began to cry.

Dorothy remained face down on the bed, quietly crying, as I massaged her sore buttocks. I recapped the needle, picked up the boat with the spent syringes and swabs, and started for the door. She saw me and asked me to stay. Dorthy lay there gently rubbing her sore buttocks. She told me that she had been hoping that someone other than a nurse she knew would give her the injections, that she didn't want one of her friends to see her exposed and crying from the discomfort of the shots. She had heard another nurse crying and begging “please take it out” as she walked down the hall past that room.

About five minutes later, Dorothy pushed herself up and she got off the bed, standing up on legs that felt weak. She looked at the floor as she bent down to pull up her underpants. Her behind was so sore that she couldn't put her girdle back on. She tried, but gave up, and after putting on nurse’s uniform and her shoes, walked out of the room carrying her girdle and stockings.

I saw Dorothy the following week near the elevator. She smiled and I asked how she was feeling, and how she was able to be as calm as she had been during the injections. She replied, “Better than last week. Seriously, I’m good. I just kept a mental of picture of us with our roles reversed.”